


"That" Kind of Picture

by lovelessly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cat Ears, Heavy Petting, M/M, Photography, forced stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelessly/pseuds/lovelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[extremely old kink meme fill reposted here for archive purposes]<br/>For the prompt - France showing Picardy what he meant by "that" kind of picture by mercilessly molesting him. Umm... well, no explanation here, I guess I just wanted to write a character no one cares about. Poor guy. And look, a non-explicit fic, that's so unusual of me, I'm not sure why I didn't post this on my normal account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"That" Kind of Picture

“Ok, go for it!”

“What?!” Picardy felt the top of his head where his boss had set the cat ears, and to his horror, he found that they were impossible to remove. “H-how do you take them off?!”

“You must wear them until you complete your mission, of course,” France said, smiling a perfect imitation of a Cheshire’s grin.

“Exactly what sort of weird mission is this?” Picardy grumbled, still tugging at the ears fretfully.

“Ah, do you need a demonstration of what I mean by that kind of picture?” France’s grin grew even wider, and Picardy would later regret his answer.

“I-I guess so.”

“Do you have your camera with you?” France asked, pointing at the bag on the living room table.

“Oui.” Pulling the digital camera out of his knapsack, Picardy turned it on and adjusted the settings before handing it to France. “Here, it should be ready to go, boss.”

“Excellent. Now, come here, Picardy. I can not show you what I mean if you are standing all the way over there.”

Picardy rounded the table and stood a little distance in front of the nation, who shook his head and gestured with an elegantly manicured hand. “A little closer, s’il te plait. Don’t be shy, I will not hurt you. We are connected at the heart, remember?”

Rolling his eyes, Picardy scooted a little closer, wondering, belatedly, what sort of photos France took last April Fool’s that had made everyone’s dreams come true. Before he could register what was going on, France had pushed Picardy’s shirt up, baring his stomach and chest, and quickly snapped a picture of his naked torso.

“Aah! What was that for?!!” he screamed, yanking his shirt back down.

“That is the type of photograph I need you to take,” France replied calmly, checking the preview screen with an appraising look. “A little blurry, I will have to do it again.”

“W-wait!” Picardy exclaimed, grabbing the nation’s wrist frantically in an effort to stop him from taking another picture. “Are you telling me that you were taking dirty photos for other people? And now that you’re sick, you want me to do th-that in your place?”

“Mmm, yes, you got it.” With surprising strength for someone who was groaning in agony not less than ten minutes ago, France pushed Picardy onto the couch, straddling his hips and yanking his shirt up again, taking two more photos while doing so. “Something like this is usually sufficient,” he said over the young man’s embarrassed objections, “but my adoring fans would really appreciate more.”

“More?” Picardy asked weakly.

In answer, France set the camera aside and began swiftly unbuttoning Picardy’s shirt, ignoring his efforts to dump him onto the floor. France simply laughed, settling his full weight onto Picardy’s abdomen and earning a gasp in return. “Excellent idea! A little struggle brings a flush to the cheeks and makes for a delightful picture. Remember that, mon chaton.” He took another photo and showed it to Picardy, just to make sure his lackey understood.

Picardy stared in undisguised horror at the miniature image of himself, shirt hanging off of his shoulders, a bright red flush coloring his cheeks.  
“This is impossible, I can’t--- Hey, stop that!” Picardy protested, even as France started playfully stroking his bared stomach and thumbing at his nipples, the flash going off several times.

“Nothing is impossible! You are a clever and hard-working person, and I am sure you will find a way to do this for me.”

“B-but I don’t think… the subjects of the photographs will understand,” Picardy mumbled, feeling his face blaze up in mortification as France began to unfasten his pants. 

“Probably not, but I think if you tell them this is for people in need, they might become more obliging.”

“Uh…” Picardy would disagree with that statement, but he could not really concentrate on forming the words with his boss palming him through his boxers with skillful fingers. He made one last half-hearted struggle while France stripped him completely, merrily taking photos throughout the entire process despite his earlier indisposition. Unfortunately, that only made him feel worse, (or rather better in certain places,) and Picardy had to cease his efforts before the pervert of a country got the wrong impression.

“Merci, for being a good sport, Picardy,” France purred softly as he leaned forward to nuzzle at the young man’s cat ears. “I have faith that you will do a fantastic job, as you are a French citizen.”

“Is that so…” Picardy muttered, trying to cover his own vital regions with his hands.

Chuckling, France patted Picardy on his reddened cheek and whispered, “Now, would you like to know what to do for the bonus?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course not.”

Sometime after Picardy had left to embark on his assignment, France finally decided to leave the comfort of his bed. Pulling on a silk robe, he ambled over to his office and inserted the stolen memory card into his laptop computer. To be completely honest, France would admit that he could never quite get the hang of technology, but he was willing to learn, especially when it came to preserving such high quality digital photographs and videos featuring his lackey in various compromising situations. Looking very much like the cat that got into the cream, France copied the files onto his computer, for later viewing whenever he got bored.

And what with him being so sick nowadays, France got bored quite easily.


End file.
